Page 68 of The Best Men
I am very busy not looking at Mark, because I don’t want to know what he thinks about that. And I’m also very busy not looking at Instagram, just for confirmation. It’s probably a cheesy photo. Two guys in preppy clothes on a golf course somewhere, looking snazzy and well-organized as they plan their future together.
Ick, right? Who needs that? I wouldn’t be any good at it either. I’m much better as a sex concierge?my role for the next few nights.
Still . . . something isn’t sitting right.
When I look up from my glass, three people are still studying me. Maybe because I’m tapping an anxious foot against the sleek marble floor at the tempo of machine-gun fire in a mobster flick.
So I stop doing that. There’s nothing to be anxious about. I’m just staring down a long tunnel of lonely nights in New York while my ex gets married and my best friend starts his life as a husband and a father.
Yeah, I’d really like to steer this conversation away from me and my ex. “Speaking of photographers, I talked to Simone, and she’s all set for Saturday. She’ll get shots of you getting ready, Hannah. The candids you want,” I say. “Let me just reply to her text from earlier.”
Since I already texted Simone and she’s all good, I yank my phone out of my pocket and text Lucy.Any word from FLI?
Nothing,she replies immediately.Sorry.
Yeah, me too. They must have gone with another photographer.
I didn’tneedthat job, but I wanted it. Not only would it have been fun, but it would have been very distracting.
After I close the text app, I raise my face. Mark’s peering at me again, but his expression is unreadable. So much so that I wish Hannah were yawning and ready to hit the hay so I could just ask Mark if he’s still onboard for tonight’s festivities.
“Guys, it’s Wednesday,” Hannah says, setting aside her crafts. “You know what that means?”
“Hump day!” Flip announces with a chuckle. “I’m surprised Asher isn’t out hitting the nightclubs right now.” He gives me a knowing smile, and I try my best to return it but I’m pretty sure I fail.
“No, it’s our newgame night,” Hannah says firmly. “Let’s start with a few rounds of Wits and Wagers. And after Mark crushes us, we’ll switch to a bloodthirsty game of Scrabble. Who’s in?”
“Me!” Flip raises his hand.
“I’m in. I just need to call Rosie to say goodnight,” Mark says, shoulders hunched, like he doesn’t want to play either.
Hannah reaches into a shopping bag and pulls out the travel edition of both games. She’s going to be the greatest mother in the world, I bet. She’s always prepared. And Flip will probably be a great dad, because he’s good at everything he tries. Mark will probably rule the world with his spreadsheets. And I’ll still be a fuck-up, hot mess, living gig to gig and hitting the clubs until I’m eighty-seven years old.
These thoughts brought to you by my ex announcing his wedding on Instagram.
It shouldn’t bother me.
Yet it does.
* * *
Our game of bloodthirsty Scrabble takes a million years, but it might be drawing to a close soon when Hannah snags a triple-word score onchutzpah, and Mark counters withwhizbang.
They are a fierce family. Fiddling with my tiles, I rearrange them until . . .
Ha!
Not even sure this is a playable word, but fuck it.
And fuck exes.
And fuck their engagements that I don’t care about anymore tonight, or hell, at all. What I really want is to get my hands on Mark again and soon. So I’ve got to do my part to end Scrabble.
Setting the tiles one by one on the board, I spell a word offchutzpah.
And maybe send a message to him as I play . . .hardon.
I sneak a glance at Mark.
